John Robertson ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

John Robertson isn’t just one of the best stand up, improv comedians on the circuit; he is also psychic. The last time we saw him, he homed in on a hapless David, as looking like all the Doctor Whos in one, and declared that he probably listens to Pentangle. The weird thing was, we three Darkchatters, the two Davids and I, had indeed been listening to Pentangle the night before. Uncanny... This time, John was obviously a fan of Dark Side of the Moon, which we had not been playing, but we certainly own it on ancient vinyl and cd. How does he know???

Dark Side was, of course, the obvious listening choice for possibly the most venerable member of the audience, as our show coincided exactly with the Eclipse of the Sun. This may have been the reason for a surprisingly low attendance, but the smaller numbers enabled each member to enjoy the full force of John’s manic genius for engaging with his audience and reducing us to helpless puddles of laughter.

Before the show officially started, John was already bouncing around genially, greeting us like old friends, setting up a large fan that he said he’d discovered lying around at the venue. As the wind lifted my hair, he grinned and fluffed up his own long white locks. We shared a moment of fluffing joy. As energetic as he was before the show once it starts, he ramps up the energy and the volume, leaping through the black curtains behind the stage and immediately we’re all on a mad roller coaster ride.

The full force of the large electric fan was initially directed at our side of the front row and he commented on its effects – my mad curls blowing around “like a shampoo advert”, the slight upward flick of a front lock of Anne’s hair being “unbelievably adorable”. After about half an hour of windblown bliss, he moved the fan to give the other half of the room the benefit. This, he informed us, as each side had a taste of sweltering heat or temperate wind, was to give us an equally shared lesson in climate change.

Meanwhile, back to the Eclipse that we were missing out on. He suggested he might lead us outside like the Pied Piper to experience it for real, or create it indoors. The glass roof of the ballroom is pretty much obscured by dirt or lichen, so barely any light penetrates. John claimed the credit. “Behold, the Eclipse!”. Alternatively, he proposed to set up an internal eclipse for us, using the motion sensor light from his dressing area behind the stage, causing a chaos of flying dust by flinging the curtain up to reveal the (unpredictable) light going out – or not (note to venue – your curtain rails need hoovering)! He reassured the younger audience members, “the children “, in their early twenties, that they would get another chance to see the next eclipse but repeatedly reminded poor David, that he wouldn’t! No chance (unless, of course, he really IS Dr Who)!

And so Robertson continues at full throttle, once again he leaps through the curtains, engages with every member of the audience and takes no prisoners. He comes out with outrageous comments and compliments that sail dangerously close to the wind, but delivered with an energy, warmth and charm that make it impossible to be offended – we too are helpless with laughter.

An audience member on the left (now enjoying the benefits of the fan) was targeted for his bright blue patterned bucket hat. The hat, itself, was reversible from its blue exterior, to a plain black lining. “It’s the Eclipse!” declares John, before whipping it away and depositing it in Darkchatter Anne’s lap, together with the contents of the owner’s wife’s purse, including the perfect accessory for John’s show, a naughty little container for a lipstick – a tiny, crocheted purple penis!

And so, we never did see the Eclipse, and we three oldies will not make it to the next one (sorry, David), but an hour in the company of the tornado of energy and talent that is John Robertson was much more invigorating.

If I want to see a total eclipse, I’ll eat a Jaffa Cake. If I want to see a genius of outrageous improv humour and laugh so hard that it hurts, I’ll see John Robertson.